A Theology of Place

June8,2014

by Fr. Jim Schmitmeyer

I’ve been skimming theologian John Inge’s reflections on the importance of place in God’s revelation. From the Scottish Journal of Theology: The gradual disregard for place in Western society has had considerable implications for the Christian community since, according to Inge’s understanding of tradition, place serves an essential role in Christian heritage.
Below is a baccalaureate address I delivered last month in the small town of Vega, Texas (population 900). It’s a much longer discourse than I usually deliver in church, but I ended up using many of my usual rhetorical strategies: description, narrative, comparison/contrast, setting a scene, etc.
I hope you enjoy reading it. As always, please make a comment. Your thoughtful suggestions and commendations will be greatly appreciated. JMS

"MY HOMETOWN"
Two weeks ago I was riding a young horse out at the Baca Ranch. The wind was strong and I lost my hat. I thought, “I won’t see that hat again unless I drive to Hereford!” (I figured the hat had already made its way to Farmers’ Corner). Yes, the wind was that strong.

Now, if you know anything about starting colts—which is what I do in my spare time—you know that strong wind is not an ideal condition in which to ride a young horse outside a round pen for the first time. But Jayton Baca said he had time to ride with me that day. So I loaded up the filly I’m training and met Jayton and his dad at the ranch, knowing that the presence of an experienced rider on a seasoned horse would calm the filly’s jitters and balance out the ill-effect of the wind.

I’m proud to say my filly didn’t perform half bad. Of course, we did have a rodeo going at one point (right, Jayton?). But I wasn’t worried. If needed, Jayton was close by to pick up the pieces.

So, graduates, why am I starting my talk this evening with this story about riding a horse with your classmate, Jayton Baca? Well, because, when I think about Vega and the folks who live here—and the kind of lives that you lead—I picture that day at the Baca Ranch.

Slideshows
Pictures are important and on a night like this, pictures are very important. You see, I attended last year’s Baccalaureate and I remember viewing a slideshow of Class of 2013.

Some of the pictures were quite funny. Some were quite touching.

So, that’s why I’m opening this talk with a picture of a day out here at Vega…
a day when I was proud of the horse I was training. And, more significantly, a day when I was honored to ride with a young man I admire named Jayton Baca.

Like I said, pictures are important. So I’m going to paint another one. In this scene you’re going see a young woman in her cap and gown at a church service. She carries a rose to her parents and her parents hug her and the three of them fight back tears. And so do I. Even though I know but a fraction—a tiny fraction—of the love and faith, dedication and compassion, and a hundred other memories flooding the minds and squeezing the hearts of that father and mother and their daughter, that moment when Nichole and her parents embrace each other at Holy Mass in my church at Vega.

When I think of Vega, Texas, that, too, is a picture that comes to mind. Here’s another one: It’s a family gathering. I’ve just baptized a little girl and she is the niece of your classmates, Miguel and Gerardo. And we’re in the and everyone is happy and every face has a smile and the only thing better than the delicious food—la comida savorosa—is the pride shining in the eyes of parents and godparents and grandparents and sons and daughters
and youngsters and children. Because it’s their family and their heritage and their faith and the love of God in their hearts and their home that they’re celebrating.

And that, too, is a picture that comes to mind when I think of this community called Vega. And, of course, I’m just scratching the surface, aren’t I? I have a hundred more pictures I could share and I wish I had time to do so. I wish I could stand up here and paint a picture in words about each one of you, a picture that would capture—for just a moment--who you are at this time in your life. And maybe I could also capture—for a just a moment—how much hope we hold out for you and how strong our hearts beat with love for you…each one of you.

Focus on the Background
Fortunately, I won’t have to because, at the conclusion of this address, we’ll view a slideshow of photos that you yourselves have put together for tonight’s service. And, when you look at them, all I ask is that you take notice of the fact that all the pictures have the same background. Yes, the same background. It won’t matter if the pictures are shot on the football field or inside the County Barn at the stock show or inside your own house with your family. The background will be the same.

It won’t matter if we see you at a birthday party or on your first day of school or holding trophy or waving to the camera from the window of a car or a pickup. It won’t matter because we will see you as God sees you, that is to say in a particular place, at a particular time. And—for a moment—we’ll catch a glimpse of your identity and how that identity connects you to a place called Vega, Texas.

This Land is Your Land
You know, people occasionally comment on how God creates each person as a unique individual. Yet, we don’t often talk about how God also creates each person for a certain place. And that place, in turn, plays a part in the person you turn out to be.

This town called Vega, this region called the Texas Panhandle—this land, this community—has formed you and shaped you. You are a part of us…and we are a part of you.

Now, maybe this isn’t something you want to focus on tonight because you are young and you can’t wait to move on. You want adventure, you want excitement, and that’s understandable. But tonight’s pictures, the ones with your eyes full of hope and laughter, these pictures will show us not just who you are, but also where you come from.
These photographs will display your life as lived in the halls of this school and the pews of your church; on the football field surrounded by fields of wheat and milo and corn; in a place with deep canyons and big sky and open roads that stretch to the far horizon.

Barbed Wire and Adobe Walls
Make no mistake about it, this place is part of you. But let’s not stop with just you. Let’s not stop with just the Class of 2014. So, let me show you something. You see this piece a barbed wire? The other day a friend of mine met me with a metal detector. He’s an amateur historian and we were hoping to find some rifle shells from the days of the Cavalry.

We didn’t any shells but we found this piece of barbed wire. I took it home and checked it out. This brand of wire is Ellwood, made in 1882.

This little piece of wire reminds us that this place has a deep history, but not so deep that you can’t dig it up. Sometime it doesn’t require any digging at all. For instance, I recently tagged along with a friend of mine, Toby Shenk, who works in the oil fields north of town. Toby is also a cowboy and he knows that land like the back of his hand. We stopped at one well—a long way off pavement—and he says to me, “Fr. Jim, about three miles east of here, stands the corner of a stone house where Billy the Kid used to hide out.” He smiled a crooked smile…and I wasn’t sure he wasn’t pulling my leg.
Then we drove to another oil well. Toby checked the level in the water tank,
then he pointed west. “Over there, maybe seven miles, you’ll find some adobe walls, part of a settlement built by Spanish sheepherders. Then, behind him, he pointed to a mesa where Comanche Indians defended themselves.

And then, there was just Toby and me, pulling away in his pickup. And I realized how much this land is a part of him. And a part of me. And a part of us all. And, no matter where we go, this place, its history and its people,
its dust and its wind is as much a part of us as the way we think, the way we stand and the way we talk.

"Give Me Back My Hometown!"
This notion reminds me of a song by Eric Church that’s popular on the country stations these days called “My Hometown.” Here are some of the lyrics:

I used to love this view…Main street and the high school lit up on Friday night.

Down there it’s another touch down.Man, this year’s team is stout.I can hear them going crazy

And up here, so am IThinking about you sittin’ there saying I hate this… I hate it,

If you couldn’t stand livin’ here why’d you take it, take it?Give me back my hometown. ‘Cause this is my hometown.

You can have my grandma’s locket,The knife out of my grandpa’s pocket.Yeh, my state champion jacket.Every picture, every broken dream…Yeah, everything. Everything.

But give me back my hometown.

God and The Place where You Live
Now, Eric Church , isn’t singing something new. In fact, he’s just rephrasing something that St. Luke, the author of the Acts of the Apostles, wrote centuries ago. You can find in chapter 17, verse 26: God made every nation, that they should inhabit the earth. And He determined the time set for them and the exact places where they should live.

Did you catch that? The exact places where they should live. If you ask me, St. Luke is telling you that this place, Vega, Texs isn’t just your hometown, it’s a place that was assigned to you by God. And I believe, as rural people, we know in a deeper way than other folks, that the place where we live influences how we live.

Let me give you an example. I recently read about a young couple who fell in love while attending a Bible college. They were both convinced that God was calling them to serve the church in a foreign country. So, for years, they made their choices according to that dream: their marriage, their friends, their temporary jobs, even their church. They based their decision according to where they wanted to go, which was somewhere else, always somewhere else from where they lived.

After they graduated, they found themselves stuck in the mediocre city where they had studied: Jackson, Tennessee. In their mind, Jackson was just a stopping off place. They didn’t like it there. They wanted to go to China and they were certain that God was calling them there. And the longer the dream was delayed, the more they complained. Then, finally, one day it arrived! The offer they were waiting for. They finally had a chance to go to China and be the missionaries they always wanted to be.

Guess what? The offer to teach in China suddenly made them realize what they’d be giving up if they left the dreary town of Jackson. The young couple realized that their reluctant home was actually a place of opportunity and adventure. When this couple let go of looking to the future, they no longer saw Jackson as an insignificant stopping-off place. Instead, that saw it as a broken place in need of redemption. The poverty and the crime and the drugs that plague that town compelled them to stay.

The great things they desired to do for God were not to be found in China, but rather, God would lead them to make beauty from the ashes of the burned-out city in their own backyard.

Graduates, tonight, when you look at the pictures of your life, don’t just look at your friends, look at the place. This town called Vega. And keep in mind that no matter where go, the place where you live is important. No college classroom…no military barracks…no job site in the oil fields…no office building in a city …is insignificant. No matter where you live—in Vega, Texas or Las Vegas, Nevada, North Platte, Nebraska or Tulsa, Oklahoma—the place itself matters.

Every town, every city, every open stretch of highway is important if you are there. Because God has led you there.

"Lord, I Give to You...My Hometown"
Now, I’m suspect this Class of 2014 has a class song. If so, I’m going to suggest a second one and it won’t be Eric Church’s Give Me Back My Hometown. Rather it’s going to be, Lord, I Give You Back…My Hometown. And these are the lyrics:

Lord, I give you my hometown and all that I learned here…I give you back the life I lived here and all the ways in which my family and friends helped shape my identity there…

I give you back my hometown, Lord, out of love, because of what it gave to me.